


You’re the Only Song I Want to Hear

by thispieceofmind



Series: Time to Pretend [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Blow Jobs, F/M, Fingering, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up AU, Kissing, M/M, three year age gap, yah idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Harry’s breath hitches, because he knows he’s so, so stupid for doing this to himself again."</em>
</p><p>They're in boarding school, and Harry really shouldn't like Louis like that, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You’re the Only Song I Want to Hear

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last part! They're mainly 14/17 here.

Harry considers himself lucky, really. He’s lucky because he doesn’t cry until he’s at his room, and he doesn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on him sobbing like the child he currently feels like. He sobs into his pillow until all that’s left is a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stares at the wall and doesn’t think for once. He doesn’t reckon he can; he’s gone numb.  


So he sits for god knows how long just _watching_. And he probably blinks less than he should, and his green eyes still red from tears go glazed over. He sees white and that’s it. Just the white wall and the ache in his chest that makes him take heavy breaths and want to curl up in a ball with the taste of tea and the scent of Louis and winter. But he’s not getting what he wants, so he sits and stares and wants to turn on sad music but doesn’t because he can’t bring himself to move. It’s sickening, really, but he guesses this is what heartbreak feels like, so he finally understands the ending of that dumb romance novel. The feeling of shattering around him like his vision is blurred and the only thing he can see is _Louis_. He feels like a pathetic little boy, so he presses his back against the window that he leaves open so he can let the cold numb him, and he stares at the door.  


He doesn’t know how long he looks at his door, but he nearly jumps out of his skin when it opens. He places a hand over his quick beating heart and is almost happy to feel the pulsing in his veins, because before it felt as though he was so numb and so sad that it was going to stop. But the door swings open, and he jumps, but Niall and Liam walk in so it must be a bit after midnight now, and they’re laughing. Niall has an arm around Liam’s shoulders and this grin on, and Harry already knows he’s going into be that state where he doesn’t realize anything. He’s not gonna notice Harry’s red-rimmed eyes or when his smile doesn’t quite reach. But Niall won’t notice that Harry’s not completely genuine in his response, either. Liam might, Harry thinks, but if he’ll say something is beyond him.  


So Niall beams straight away as he unbuttons his shirt, “Harry! Harry! You’ll never believe it. The lovely bird I took to the ball, yeah, and we were dancing and talking and I dunno what I was thinking, but I pulled her outside and it was cold but nice, and we were laughing at something I said, or maybe it was her – but. She looked so lovely, and I kissed her! I’ve had my first kiss, Haz!”  


Niall’s so ecstatic about it that Harry can’t fight his smile, and it’s definitely not as wide as it normally would be, but he stands up on shaky legs to give his friend a light hug and a pat on the back. Niall grins at him, but Harry turns to change so he doesn’t have to grin back. They get out of their dress clothes and nice shoes and crawl into bed, but no one says anything. Niall has still got a smile on the face by the time he’s huddled in the duvet, and Liam sends him a final warm look before flicking the lights off.  


So Harry tries to sleep, and he’s not sure if he does. He feels in the ambiguous state of awake and asleep all twelve hours he lies in bed until it’s noon, and he thinks he should probably get up. He eats lunch but does homework alone and thinks it’s fitting because that’s all he feels.  


Alone.  


***  


It carries on like that for a while, and he thinks that the happiest day he has over the next three months is his birthday, because Christmas hols at home are just as lonely, except he has a mum who’s pestering and a sister who has a boyfriend and no time for her younger brother. The new year brings nothing new for Harry, just more of the same.  


But his first week back at school, his girlfriend texts him to meet in the bleachers on Saturday, so he does, and he knows what’s coming. Of course he does. It doesn’t surprise him at all, and he reckons he should be sadder than he is. He’s back to no one again, he supposes, because Niall’s got a girlfriend and Liam’s got Niall still. Harry feels a little empty as he walks down to the field, but he tries not to drag his feet in the grass because he likes his shoes. All the snow melted.  


She’s sitting there with the long hair and bright eyes. He sits with a meek greeting, and straight away she takes Harry’s hand, and he figures that she wants to get right to it. Once again, he doesn’t blame her. She takes his hand on her knee and says, “Harry, tell me please. It’s okay.”  


He knows what she’s talking about. Everyone knows now. He wasn’t exactly shameful about it, nor secretive. So it’s out there, and he guesses she just picked up on it later than others. That’s all right. That’s how Harry’s been thinking about everything recently. _Oh, that’s all right. It’s fine_. He doesn’t really have an opinion. Everything just is. It’s not as peaceful as he thought it would be because he can’t stop from his brain from churning things up.  


Harry doesn’t know where to start, but he blurts, “I’m sorry,” first. He thinks that it’s safe enough.  


“It’s okay, Harry. Honestly. But tell me, please, so I just– closure, kind of?”  


Harry takes a deep breath and mutters, “I’m gay.”  


“Okay,” she whispers, and in that moment, as he stares into her glossy eyes, he is so, so _thankful_ , because there are so many other girls, nearly all of them, he reckons, who at this age would have screamed and cried after finding out something so appalling – that their boyfriend of several months is interested in boys, too. But she is lovely and kind, and she understands because she’s smart and she understands fear. Harry doesn’t know how he was so lucky, that he found someone so lovely. And they’re thirteen, so he’s happy she knows that it was never love. Harry thinks he sounds sad. Then again, he is. 

“Everything’s all right, love. Stay in touch now, Harry. I don’t want to lose you completely.”  


Harry smiles wider than he has in months. “Yeah– yeah, okay, friends. I’d like that. I need a friend.”  


“Of course. I’ll talk to you soon, Harry.” She kisses his cheek and whispers in his ear, “You can tell me about that boy you’re in love with.”  


And Harry watches her go, and it’s not until she’s gone from sight does Harry tuck his knees up to his chest and start to cry again. It’s not heartbreak, no, but he feels like such a _fuck up_. Because he dated a girl just to make a boy jealous and failed. Because he was the person that boy cheated with. Because all he does is love so much – loves too much, and all he gets in return is nothing, nothing that’s slowly turning him into a black hole because he’s afraid of turning somewhere else. He’s thirteen and stupid and crying harder than he ever has alone on the bleachers after he lets the last person he remotely had walk away.  


Harry likes his birthday for two reasons. Firstly, is because Niall and Liam stay by his side all day. He doesn’t feel so lonely. And secondly as well as lastly, he’s fourteen. He’s older. Maybe that makes him more desirable. Probably not.  


But probability is something completely different than reality.  


***  


He continues on in various stages of sad and happy, tiptoeing around Louis and Nick until it turns to spring, and he thinks maybe spring will be good. Spring brings the flowers and the flowers are his favorite thing. He hopes spring is nice.  


It’s barely into March when he gets a message on his little white board again just saying, _Come talk_. There’s not even a sign off, but Harry knows it’s Louis, and for once, he’s contemplating going. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to see Louis, well – it sort of is, really. He would want to see him more if he knew how he was going to act. Would he kiss him or touch him? Or would he just ignore him in that weird way that he does, where it’s not so much ignoring, but just – not like _Louis_ when it’s _louisandharry_. Harry’s not so sure how much of _louisandharry_ there is left.  


But eventually, he sucks it up after ten minutes spent contemplating, and he goes to Louis’ dorm and is happy there was no time on the door because he would have been assuredly late. By the time he gets there, it’s already open, so he takes that as an invitation to come in, and Louis is staring down at a book, but Harry knows he’s not reading. He has the Fray playing, but he’s not listening, either. It’s quiet, and his eyes aren’t moving, and his brow is furrowed. It is not the book that he is thinking about. Harry can tell everything just by looking at him.  


So he clears his throat to get Louis to look up, and when he does, Louis looks at him for a while, and it makes Harry a little uncomfortable, the wandering blue eyes looking at his pale skin, dark veins, and purple, sunken hollows underneath his eyes. He shifts from one foot to another, but he takes a seat on Louis’ bed, and for a moment he wants to fold in on himself, but he presses his back against the headboard and waits.  


It’s a few minutes of silence and the song has changed once when Harry says, “We gonna talk?”  


Louis snaps out of it. “Um– yeah. Sorry, about that, by the way, just doing all that unannounced.”  


Harry arches a brow and scoffs. “You don’t sound very sorry.” He folds his arms over his chest because he always feels so exposed around Louis. He wants some way to hold everything, to make it so he can’t see. Louis always sees. He’s perceptive in the way that most wouldn’t think of him, being so wildly rambunctious and flirtatiously inviting that most people would make obnoxious, but he manages to pull it off as charming. Louis has always been an enigma to Harry, he thinks, no matter how much Harry can tell by a glance.  


“Well, I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t know how to get your attention.”  


“Talk to me, maybe? Approach me?”  Harry’s being stubborn. And maybe this isn’t what Louis wanted when he said talk, but Harry just doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do or what to say or how to act. He’s completely and utterly lost, and he doesn’t know whether to blame himself or Louis or life itself.  


“It’s been months, Harry! _Months_.” Louis takes a deep breath, turns in his swivel chair, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me anymore. You just – you left, Harry, okay? I don’t know what you’re thinking at every given second.”  


And that’s all that it takes for Harry to break. Maybe it’s because he’s been so unstable and precarious with his emotions recently; he thinks it might be hormones because he’s fourteen and completely unbalanced, but he’s already getting choked up and panicky. He feels Louis’ gaze on him, and he wonders what he can see. Can he see the ball welling up in Harry’s throat? Can he see the tears stinging the corners of his eyes and the thoughts flooding in his head? Harry doesn’t want him to, but in seconds, it doesn’t matter anymore because his elbows are on his knees and his head is in his hands and there’s an uncontrollable sob spilling from his lips. His shoulders shake violently and his cries are loud.  


He doesn’t see Louis’ softened expression or the falter in his movements. All he feels is an curling around his shoulder and soft things being cooed in his ears about how he’s fine, how he’s okay even though he’s not. He’s not, and he shouldn’t be like this; he shouldn’t be unsteady at any given moment, and he shouldn’t be crying all the time. He shouldn’t be.  


“Shhh,” Louis murmurs, rubbing circles on his back and breathing into his neck. “You’re all right. It’s okay.”  


And Harry lets a few more sobs out but sucks in a heavy breath. He calms himself enough just to scream, “I’m not! I’m not okay – I am so fucked up, and I shouldn’t be. I’m depressed, or–or something, I don’t know. There is something wrong with me, and, and–” His voice breaks to something more like a whisper, quiet and terrified. “I just want you to love me,” he says, because it’s all he can say. He lets out another choked off sob. “I just want you to love me like I love you.”  


Louis doesn’t say anything, and Harry guess that’s all right, because just a minute ago he was acting like an immature little boy who was stubborn and angry, but now he’s crying and professing his love. But Harry thinks that’s how he’s been lately, jumbled up and indecisive. He feels Louis’ comforting hand on his arm and his back, so he takes shaky breaths and knows he’s not going to say anything in return.  


So he talks some more, voice rasping and breaking. “I know I shouldn’t be like, like this. I shouldn’t be so upset just because – because you don’t _want_ me. But I’m so _alone_ , Louis. I feel like I’m all by myself even when Niall is right next to me or Liam’s across the way. I feel empty and sad, but not– never with you. I don’t know what to do, Louis. I’m scared, and I’m a dumb little boy who doesn’t know what he wants or who he is, and I know I sound stupid right now, don’t I? It’s okay. I probably do.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more tears. He stuffs his face into Louis’ neck. “I just love you so much, Lou. Love you a lot.”  


There’s a tightening in Harry’s chest, but a tightening of arms around his waist, too. He’s in Louis’ lap now, who just holds him. Harry thinks that might be the only thing he can do – hold him. So they breathe, and Harry cries and tries to figure out a way to take everything back. Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead, and it doesn’t make him any less empty inside.  


***  


Nothing changes. Harry is still depressed – or sad, or, he doesn’t really know, but Louis is seemingly apathetic because he makes no approach, and they stay as distant as before, except Harry is probably even more desultory and woebegone. He’s practically dragging on the marble floors of the hallways. It carries on until spring truly arrives at the end of March, where it’s just a little bit brighter, and the first flowers are coming up through the bitterness.  


Change doesn’t evade Harry forever though, because the blue sky of spring brings back the blue in Louis’ eyes, and one day, they’re not holding hands anymore. They’re not kissing, or sitting by each other, or meeting each other’s gaze, or talking or even _interacting_. Louis is on the other side of room as Nick, and he looks a little sad and maybe that shouldn’t be making Harry happy, but it is, just a _little_. So his eyes are a little brighter and maybe Niall and Liam notice, but he eats his breakfast and thinks that things probably won’t change, but maybe they will.  


So he goes to the garden after class because he’s been going there a lot recently. He weaves a crown because it helps him think, and when the teacher leaves the greenhouse, she sends him a smile, and he returns it with a full grin that hasn’t come out in months because maybe, maybe the spring has put the life back in him.  


He drops his crown in fright when he hears, “It’s good to see you smile again.”  


Harry bends down and picks up his crown before saying, “I didn’t know you were watching.”  


Louis picks up one of the flowers that fell from the crown and twirls it in his fingers. He stares at the pinkness of it for a moment, the happiness. He tucks it behind Harry’s ear with a gentle hand and a thumb across his cheekbone. Harry wants to flinch away, but he couldn’t if he tried. “I’m always watching, Harry. Even if we’re not talking. You’re still my best mate.”  


Harry’s eyes brighten. “Really?”  


“Always, Haz. It’s just been, well, a complicated year, hasn’t it?”  


“Complicated,” Harry repeats. “Yeah, I guess so.”  


Louis holds out a hand for him, friendly, like they always have been. It’s not awkward. Louis’ hand feels right in Harrys, and butterflies flutter in his tummy when Louis asks, “Show me what blooms in March?”  


***  


So things change. It’s not completely normal, because sometimes Harry will be sad, and Louis will be sad because of Nick, and the first time Harry asks about their break up, Louis slams his books shut and storms out. That’s the first time Louis leaves, and Harry doesn’t know if he’s going to come back, then, so he cries on their couch in the library. He does come back though, twenty minutes later, and sees Harry puffy-eyed and sniffling. He pets his hair and says he’s sorry and kisses his cheeks. He tells him how sorry he is and gets him new tea and says he’ll tell him eventually.  


Harry knows he’ll always come back after that, so he starts crying less and smiling more and is just more sunny. More like Harry. They’re just friends, though, but they study and hang out on weekends and laugh and smile, and Harry thinks it’s really, really nice. He’s missed this so immensely that it’s like the hole inside him is filled with bright blue eyes and vivacious demeanors.  


March bleeds into April, and that’s when they get an order of orchids for the greenhouse, and Harry just likes to tend to them. They spend a lot there, because Harry likes it and Louis likes Harry being happy. The orchids also bring the day that Harry fucks up again, or, he thinks he fucks up at first, because Louis is sitting on one of the counters in the greenhouse, and Harry thinks he looks particularly lovely that day; his hair is all messy and windswept, and he has a smile that hasn’t left his face all day. He’s wearing tight jeans and a big hoodie that he swims in, and Harry wants to envelope him and breathe him in. 

So he fucks up because the blossom that he’s toying with in his hand brightens his eyes, and Harry steps between his legs and plucks it out of his fingers.  


“Oi!” Louis calls. “That’s my flower, you right twat.”  


“I grow them,” Harry singsongs, and holds it too far back for him to reach.  


“Hey,” Louis says, and it’s softer. Harry lowers his hand. “Give it here; I’ll hand it back in a sec.” Harry folds the flower in his palm. Louis smiles softly and tucks it right behind Harry’s ear in his unruly hair, like he always does. “There,” Louis whispers, and Harry’s not sure when it got so quiet, but it smells like blossoming and renewal, and Harry thinks they’re blossoming, too, right? Because they’ve changed and grown and they’re still growing. So he takes change as a good thing and cups Louis cheek. He kisses him right on the mouth before he can even change his mind and tell himself it’s a bad idea. But he thinks it’s a bad idea seconds after he does it, so he leans back and swears under his breath.  


“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry– I didn’t mean to do that. I’ve fucked it all up again, and we just made it better. I – sorry.”  


One of Harry’s curls falls in his eyes, and Louis brushes back with a gentle hand. His hands come to sit on Harry’s waist, and he just looks for a moment. Harry doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he lets him, and blinks a lot because Louis is staring, and he’s not sure what he’s picking at.  


“We’re still friends, Haz. It’s okay. I liked kissing you, y’know. When we just did that? So, what if we’re just friends that kiss again? If you don’t – if you’re not okay, we can stop, yeah? It’s okay.”  


Harry’s breath hitches, because he knows he’s so, so stupid for doing this to himself again. He knows he shouldn’t, but Louis doesn’t have a boyfriend and he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he smells like flowers and springtime, so he thumbs across Louis’ face and murmurs, “Okay.”  


So they kiss and it’s even better than before, and maybe it’s because Harry’s surrounded by his two favorite things in the world: flowers and Louis. Louis is soft with Harry, soft mouth, soft movements, soft hands crawling under his t-shirt and running along the indent of Harry’s spine. He licks gently into Harry’s mouth and makes him mewl and whine. Harry’s breathless and dizzy, eyes closed and fuzzy. Louis licks across his lips and kisses down his jaw and neck. “Missed you, Haz. Missed being your friend, missed holding you. You never stopped being lovely.”  


Harry whines again at that and makes Louis kiss him again because he’s not sure how many more words he can take. They stand there in the scent of efflorescence and the sound of lips meeting over and over for a long time. Harry loses track of how long and doesn’t care. He just doesn’t want to let go. He never wants to let go.  


***  


So they’re friends who kiss sometimes, and it’s not as often as Harry would like, but it’s nicer than it was before, because it’s always lazy and soft and usually on one of their beds or in the greenhouse. It’s only when they have time and want to be close, but Louis always tastes like tea and warmth and home. It’s good enough for Harry, because he’s with Louis and he’s not crying. Louis is softer with him, less rough around the edges, and never scary or hurrying or wanting to get away from him. It’s all about _louisandharry_. And that’s how April turns into May, and why Harry’s heart is being so fast because he’s so close all the time.  


In May, they’re doing homework, but they’re outside at a picnic table because the weather’s so nice. The sun is glinting off of their sunglasses, and they’ve long finished, so they watch the clouds roll by and the leaves on the trees ruffle. The wind makes Harry’s hair go in his face, so Louis sits on top of the table and cards his hands through it to make Harry giggle. He runs his hands over his face to make him whine, and Harry licks Louis’ hand.  


It’s quiet after that, just the wind, when Louis is just running his fingers gently along Harry’s scalp and listening to him breathe. They sit, for a while, until Harry thinks it’s peaceful enough to ask, “Can you tell me about Nick – if you want?”  


Harry hears Louis take a deep breath, and he still can’t see his eyes because they way they’re sitting. He scratches at Harry scalp and says, “Sure, Haz. I’m good now. I was just a bit roughed up still, before, when you asked. But it’s a thing of the past, and well, I’m over it. I broke up with him, anyway.”  


Harry gasps. “You did?”  


“Yeah, why? Did you think it was the other way ‘round?” Louis asks.  


“Obviously,” Harry snorts.  


Louis slaps him upside the head. “Okay, that was a dumb question, but I digress. Anyway, I broke up with him because we just weren’t right, y’know? It was a lot of arguing, which at first, was like, banter, but then we got to caught up in our own opinions and had trouble letting go and, it was just – bad, yeah. I mean, the sex was fucking great, but it was a lot of sex and not enough coursework, so my grades were dropping last semester and Mum was mad, and I wanted to do good–”  


“Not if you’re saying ‘do good,’” Harry interjects playfully.  


Louis tugs on a piece of his hair. “Oh, shut up. Do well. But yeah, it wasn’t working out, and I missed you, so, I broke up with him.”  


Harry’s breath hitches, and he hopes the wind takes the sound with it. “Missed me?” he squeaks, and his voice cracks a little.  


Louis plays with his hair and runs his nails along his scalp. “Of course I did, Harry. I missed you loads, and I hated seeing you sad. I knew Nick was part of it, and things weren’t working out anyway.”  


“You broke up with him because of me?” Harry needs to look at him. He can’t have this conversation without looking at him. He winds his fingers into Louis’ and places his hands back on his knees so he can crawl up on the top of table too. He sits next to Louis and presses into his side, Louis’ arm coming around his waist and rubbing at the sliver of skin where his shirt has risen up.  


“It was just a little bit because of you. Like I said, it wasn’t working out anyway, and I wanted you back, Harry. I missed you a lot, yeah? It was hard for me, too. So I broke up with him. I hated seeing you sad and knowing it was my fault.”  


“It wasn’t all your fault, Lou. I was just a bit depressed, yeah?”  


“Well, it was triggered by me, and I wanted to see your pretty smile again.” Harry blushes and grins. Louis pokes his cheek and then presses a lingering kiss there. “Love you, Haz.”  


Harry doesn’t say anything back.  


***  


Harry spends every waking moment of June in the greenhouse. Most of them time, Louis is by his side, bustling about and helping in anyway he can. June is the last month of school, and there’s two weeks until the Summer Ball, and Harry was put in charge of the flower arrangements for the tables. He’s freaking out, a little, because there’s thirty-five tables and he has to make that many arrangements, and wow that’s a lot of flowers. But Louis is there, kissing his neck when he needs to relax and licking into his mouth when he needs to slow down. It’s a bit hazy for him, for most of it, but he’s mostly happy and ebullient.  


He gambols about the greenhouse and orders around Louis like he has his own personal slave, because he already has everything planned out. He stayed up for hours sketching out the flowers, and it’s an elegant balance of orange and red, and it’s _perfect_. They take it a couple at a time, but then Harry’s so stressed that they have to take a break, and Louis is perfectly okay with that. Harry weaves crowns and makes Louis wear them, and he thinks that he likes this a lot. He takes him to the couch they demanded be implemented in the greenhouse and lay down, Harry sprawled on top of Louis and feeling small because Louis still has a few inches on him. Just a few.  


Harry is warm and sleepy, and lets himself doze off, just for a minute though, because this is just a break, but when he wakes up, Louis is hovering over him with a cheeky little smirk on his face – the bastard – and Harry wonders what he’s done.  


“What’s up now, you minx?”  


“Your cock’s pressing up into me thigh.”  

Harry goes bright red. “Fuck, _fuck_.”  


Louis laughs. “S’all right. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He smirks again. His hand crawls up Harry’s thigh. Harry squirms.  


“Lou, don’t– just lemme, cool off, yeah?”  


“Why don’t I get you off, instead?”  

“What?” Harry squeaks.  


“Like I said, nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Not a big deal, I’ll just suck you off, and we’ll be good, yeah? No mess, no stress.”  


“ _No stress_ ,” Harry repeats, incredulous. He wipes a hand across his face. “Fuck.”  


“You want me to?” Louis asks, lowering himself back down next to Harry and kissing up his neck. “Think of it,” he says, pausing to suck at Harry’s neck lightly in thought, “as a favor.”  


Harry grins. “But then I’d owe you one, wouldn’t I?”  

Louis winks at him. “Maybe.” He kisses Harry deep. “But relax now, babe. Have you ever gotten a blow job before?”  

Harry goes red again. “I’ve not– I never– you were the only one, like, sexual stuff.”  


“Aw, you’re innocent as always.”  

“Shut up.”  

“I will, once I’ve got my mouth on your cock.”  


Harry shuts up, too.  


Louis rucks up Harry’s shirt to his bellybutton, but Harry’s hasty to pull it off all the way. His stomach is soft and smooth, and he still has a little layer of baby fat. Louis presses kisses from his collarbones to right where his belt is buckled, undoing it and leaving them just at the knees. Harry looks at him funny, and he says, “Gonna be quick anyway, darling, you’re fourteen.”  
(Harry ignores that Louis called him darling.)  


Louis takes Harry’s cock in his hand, and he smirks at his gasp. He pulls down the foreskin and thumbs across the slit, getting it nice and wet. He takes his finger in his mouth and licks it off. Harry shivers. He locks his blue eyes onto Harry’s as he takes the head in his mouth, flitting his tongue across the head because he’s set on making this _really_ quick. He wraps a hand around the base to give it a few twists and slowly bobs his head up and down, suckling and licking at the slit. Harry’s hips are bucking up into his mouth, and Louis pulls off to press a steady hand onto his hipbone.  


“Shh, Haz, stay still for me, will you?”  


“Yeah– yeah. Feels good, Lou. Really good. I wanna– I gotta do it to you. I wanna suck your cock, Louis. Wanna make you feel good too.”  


Louis takes Harry’s cock back in his mouth again, thumbing against Harry’s hip and absorbing his words and little mewls and moans. His lips are swollen and pink as he rolls his tongue over the head again, and Harry tries to warn him, but he just presses Harry’s hips down further and lets him come in his mouth, sucking until Harry’s squirming and has to gently pull on his hair. Louis licks his lips when he leans up, looking at Harry with shiny blue eyes and shinier lips.  


“Good?”  


“Yeah– yeah, good.”  


***  


They’re in Louis’ big bed, and Harry’s head on top of Louis’ heart, listening to the steady thump that he usually hears in his ears when he’s kissing him, or touching him, or standing near him, really. He thinks, that no matter how good of friends they are, the love isn’t leaving for Harry. It’s always been there. It’ll always be there. They’re lying there, and Harry is staying over because it’s a Saturday, and Louis said why not. Harry thought he might be able to return the favor, but then they’re lying there, and Harry’s got goosebumps on his arms and hearts in his eyes, so he thinks that he’s comfortable and warm and in love. He rolls over a little, presses into Louis’ neck, and embraces it while he can, because while Harry’s in love, Louis isn’t.  


But Harry breathes in and listens to that steady heartbeat, and suddenly his voice that isn’t so steady. “Harry?” Louis asks.  


“Yeah, Lou?” Harry response, voice low and smooth, a little tired with summer and work and drugged off of Louis’ smell.  


“Do you –” He pauses.  


Harry rolls over a bit more, and Louis does too, so they’re facing each other with bright eyes. Harry giggles a little, because they’re so close, and he bumps his nose against Louis’ because he can. Louis smiles at him and presses a gentle kiss to his lips. It doesn’t lead anywhere, it’s just soft and simple. It makes Harry shiver.  


“What were you gonna say, Lou?” Harry asks, watching Louis blink and seeing his eyelashes brush against his cheeks. Louis grabs Harry’s hand and plays with his fingers.  


“I, um– do you wanna, maybe go to the Summer Ball with me?”  


Harry takes a deep breath. “As friends?” he asks.  


“No,” Louis says.  


“As friends with benefits?”  


“No,” Louis says, slower this time.  


“Then what?” Harry drawls carefully.  


“You still love me, yeah?”  


“Never stopped,” Harry mumbles. He looks away.  


Louis smirks. “Then you’ll figure it out.” And he kisses him.  


He pushes Harry onto his back and crawls onto his lap, faces still hovering close to one another. Harry leans up to kiss him again, but Louis smiles gently and pushes him back down again, cupping his jaw and threading his fingers into Harry’s hair. They kiss slowly because they aren’t in a rush, and it’s warm and Harry walks his hands all over Louis’ back and shoulders and bum. Louis pulls back a few times and stares, eyelashes fluttering and face happy.  


They don’t say anything. They just kiss and explore, and Harry tugs on the bottom of Louis’ shirt, and then they’re both touching everywhere, smooth skin on smooth skin. Louis licks into Harry’s mouth and holds him close, and Harry thinks he might be making up for lost time. He wants to recreate everything.  


“Am I allowed to call you gorgeous now, gorgeous?” Harry says.  


“Call me whatever you want, darling,” Louis murmurs gently, whispering in Harry’s ear and kissing down his neck. He sucks a little mark just under his collarbone, and Harry thinks he might catch him say, “Mine.”  


They’re kissing again when Harry says, “Can I ask you something?”  

“Just did, babe,” Louis points out, trying to get his tongue back in his mouth again.  


“Lou,” Harry whines. “Please?”  


“Go at it, then,” Louis mutters, resting his head in the crook of Harry’s neck.  


“Can you say it?”  


“Say what?”  


“You’ll figure it out.” Harry thinks if Louis was looking at him, he would’ve seen his eyes light up.  


Louis presses his lips to Harry’s temple and drags them down right to the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Harry.”  
Harry shivers, and Louis kisses him. 

“Again,” Harry murmurs.  


“I love you.”  


“Is it for real?”  


“For real,” Louis says. “S’not time to pretend. Gotta take someone to the dance, haven’t I?”  


“Don’t be a twat.”  


“You haven’t even said it back, mind you.”  “I love you,” Harry says sarcastically. “I guess.”  


“Bastard!” Louis exclaims, and he grabs Harry’s wrists, pins them above his head, and kisses him hard. He drops them, eventually, to fan his fingers across Harry’s face and keep him close. He rocks his hips above Harry’s, who squeaks into his mouth. Louis smirks, but chooses to keep teasing him, seeing what noises he can draw out of him and how long he can keep him squirming until he can do something about it.  


“Please, Lou,” Harry breathes after a while of bucking up into his hips. “Do something, please.”  

“And what would you like me to do, Haz?”  


“Fuck me,” he says.  


Louis’ breath hitches. “Not yet, babe. Dance is soon. I don’t wanna make you so sore.”  


“But, Lou–”  


“Hey, hey,” Louis whispers in his ear. “I didn’t say I hadn’t a compromise.”  


“And what’s that?”  


Louis sucks at his jaw. “Have you ever fingered yourself, Harry?”  


Harry nearly chokes. Louis is still on his jaw, leaving a mark assuredly. “I – once or twice. It’s hard at school, usually, like over the summer, I did? A couple times?”  


“Did you like it, Harry?”  


“Yeah, I liked it a lot. It was good. Really good.”  


“Mhmm...” Louis murmurs.  


***  


“Does it hurt?” Louis asks.  


“No, no,” Harry breathes, choked off and thick. “It’s good, another please.”  


“All right, love. Tell me if it hurts.”  


Harry shakes his head, and Louis kisses down his neck and sucks at his nipples, rolling them under his fingers and watching Harry squirm. He’s flushed down to his chest, cheek bright red and eyes wide and full of lust. They’re blown black, and the green of the iris is so piercing that it makes Louis feel like he can be seen straight through. His free hand rubs up and down Harry’s chest, sometimes dragging his nails to see the red marks or the shudder that runs through Harry’s body. He pushes a second finger into Harry’s hole, tight and hot. He rubs at his walls and feels Harry writhe.  


“Okay?”  


“More than okay, Lou. Move, move, please.”  


Louis kisses him deeply before crooking his fingers, finding his prostate and rubbing against it with his fingertips, Harry crying out into his mouth. “Fuck,” he says. Harry rocks his hips back onto Louis’ hand, whimpering when he hits his spot and crying out with little noises and deep breaths. Louis pulls them out and pushes back in again, kissing Harry’s cheek and still petting at his chest.  


When Louis scissors his fingers, Harry lets out, “ _Oh_.”  


“Hurts?” Louis asks.  


“No, no, good. More. Keep going.”  


And Louis keeps fucking him with his fingers, scissoring him open and feeling the way he clenches around his fingers and pants. Louis kisses him while he stretches him open, slipping in another finger with his tongue is licking against Harry’s swallowing his little mewls and whines. He’s bringing his hips down to meet Louis’ fingers, moaning a little louder, eyes clenched.  


“Lou, Lou – it’s so good. Gonna come soon, touch me, please.” Louis keeps kissing him, but takes the free hand that was running down his pale, smooth skin and grabs his cock. He keeps his fingers inside Harry, his knees falling open further to take them deeper. “So close,” he gasps. Louis rolls his thumb over the head and crooks his fingers one last time, and Harry is coming over his fist, gasping his name and clawing at the sheets where his hands were fisted.  


His chest is rising and falling quickly when he comes down from his high, opening his eyes to a pair of blue ones that still remind him of the sky on the brightest day of the year. Louis wipes his fingers on tissues from his bedside table and leans down to kiss Harry. “Good?”  


“Yeah, good.”  


“Good.”  


It isn’t a lesson, that time.  


***  


“Can’t I put it in your hair?”  


Harry laughs and leans into Louis’ shoulder where he’s putting the boutonnière on Harry’s simple, black jacket. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t follow tradition, so no.”  


“Since when do we follow tradition?” Louis asks, fiddling with the last of the clasp.  


Harry laughs again and presses his palms against Louis’ chest when he’s done touching up Harry’s blazer. “Never, but my mum’s seeing these photos. Then again, she wouldn’t be so surprised to see me with a flower in my hair.”  


“See?” Louis exclaims. “And you don’t trust me.”  


Harry chuckles but leans up for a kiss, winding his fingers in Louis’ hair. They stay connected for a while, breathing in each other and the scent of flowers that’s drifting in from Louis’ open window. Harry pulls away first, because he basically decorated the entire ball room, and he wants to get there _on time_ , but Louis keeps pressing kisses to his closed lips until he caves and lets Louis open his mouth again, licking inside until he’s a panting mess and worrying about a potential boner.  


“Okay, okay, now we really have to go, Lou,” Harry says, taking a step back just for good measure.  


“You’ll hold my hand though, right?”  


Harry looks at the floor in an attempt to hide his blush. “Yeah, yeah of course.”  


“Good, now, off we go.”  


Harry rolls his eyes, but takes Louis’ outstretched hand and winds their fingers together. They walk down the hall and toward the ballroom, and they get a few curious glances, but they’re not rude, just surprised, maybe. Or, Harry thinks, not surprised, because he knows some people knew about his crush, just not expecting it to be _now_ , or _in front of them_. But Niall hugs him once they’re in the ballroom, well, just to hug him, because he already knew. Harry told him and Liam about everything, a while back.  


But now, he’s holding hands with Louis, and the windows that run up the walls are open, letting the scents of summer wander in. The dresses are bright and the sky is almost as bright as Louis’ eyes in the late afternoon. They arrangements look stunning, and Harry thinks, so does Louis. They dance and goof off and kiss once or twice because they’re here and together, and there’s no more lying or pretending. It’s just Harry and Louis and a flower that Louis plucks from an arrangement and tucks behind Harry’s ear.  


At the end of the night, Louis is twirling another blossom in his fingers and whispering in Harry’s ear, “I love you.”  Harry smirks. 

“Fuck me.”  
 _fin._


End file.
